Our Little Secret
by Marvelicious
Summary: He's out - he is. But sometimes... sometimes he needs this, because deep down Sam knows he'll always be Lucifer's. Dubcon, abusive relationship/brainwashing


"Why so glum, Sammy?"

Sam can't help the automatic reaction, jerking his head up only to see Lucifer there as usual. "Go away," He mumbles, halfheartedly because he already knows how this goes. He'd honestly be shocked if Lucifer ever listened.

"But Sammy," The angel starts, reaching forward to slip a gentle hand under Sam's chin before he can look away again, "I thought you liked having me here,"

"Keep telling yourself that." He's resigned, too fucking used to this to bother putting up much of a protest anymore. Lucifer slips his other hand up onto Sam's thigh, blue eyes shining with mirth, and Sam doesn't pull away. Resistance is not only futile, but counterproductive to this being over with.

"You know I'm not the one in denial Sam, you just don't want to admit it." Lucifer pushes Sam back onto the bed, icy cold breath against Sam's lips. He pins Sam there, his lips hovering just a few centimeters away. The goddamn tease. Sam knows how much he likes to play first; bring him to the edge, make him beg, break him all over again.

"Not in denial," Sam argues, straining up against his captor. He just wants to get it done with.

"I think you are," Lucifer teases, and he dips his head just enough to bite at Sam's jaw, because – fuck – he knows all of those little things that get to Sam, and he's shameless with it. "Don't want to tell Dean what we get up to, now do we?" Sam strains to lift his hips up off the bed, back arching as he rubs against Lucifer, "Why's that Sam? Don't want your precious brother to know what a needy little slut you are for me?"

"Not yours." Lucifer slams them back on top of the bed hard, grinding down onto Sam and trapping him with both fists in his hair. He's caged by Lucifer's arms on either side, pinned down by his suffocating weight, and Sam feels his cock twitch excitedly in his jeans.

"I disagree," He uses his leverage to tug Sam's mouth to his, all teeth and force as he claims Sam like the angel owns him, pivoting his hips much too forcefully so it's half needed friction and half pain. "You want this Sam; want me."

One of his hands suddenly disappears from the side of his head, and Sam is disoriented for a second before Lucifer's gripping his dick through his jeans, "Aren't you going to try to stop me? Protect your virtue?" He's ripping Sam's jeans off before Sam can even think about stopping it, "Come on Sammy, we both know that's a joke."

The angel is cruel with him, but it's the kind of cruel that makes it too easy for Sam to lose himself in it, easier just to hang on, overwhelmed with kisses and bites and unwanted caresses. He doesn't have a prayer of defending himself, and maybe that's why it brings this out in him, this needy wantonness.

"Mmm, what do you think Dean'd say?" Lucifer asks him, making Sam look at him as he jacks Sam's cock in his fist, "Think he'd be proud of you Sammy, all spread out and begging for my dick?" And Sam can't help but moan, because it feels so good, and the light in Lucifer's ice-blue eyes is just this side of maniacal, and it's driving him insane.

"He'd be disgusted." Lucifer snarls suddenly, changing tactics, and Sam's mind is spinning with the flip, but he can't help but push up into Lucifer's fist, begging him for more. "Look at you Sammy. Filthy fucking whore."

And he knows it too; Dean'd leave him for good if he knew Sam still did this, that he just can't help himself where Lucifer's concerned. Tears well up in his eyes at the thought, but he can't help the dribble of precum that spurts from his cock, because it's so bad and so wrong and so dirty and he can't help it. Lucifer's getting exactly what he wants again, and here he is playing right up into it –

"That's right," His angel encourages him, voice soft and comforting before he punctuates it with a gentle kiss, "This is all you're good for anymore baby. You think anyone else would ever touch you if they knew? Think anyone else would love you like I do?"

"N-no," Sam gasps, because it's true. If they knew – if they only knew… But they just seems like such an abstract term like this, because Lucifer has ruined him for all of them and Sam knows it.

Lucifer makes sure he does.

"Please," He can't take much more; he wants this to be over. It's too much, and tears are beginning to threaten breaking free from his eyes, but Sam knows Lucifer loves to make him beg.

"Please what, Sam?" Lucifer corrects, breath whispering across Sam's collarbone and making him shiver.

"Fuck me, please." He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to want it, but he does. But at least it's not like Sam's got any pride left to bother getting worked up over. Lucifer took care of that a long time ago.

Lucifer just laughs, humiliating him with his need. "Speak up Sammy, I didn't hear you." He twists his wrist, nearly bringing Sam off, but wraps his fingers around the base of Sam's cock just as quickly until Sam's writhing beneath him, biting down hard on his lower lip.

"Fuck me!" Sam cries out, much too loudly, and he hopes to god Dean's not close by. "Please, oh please, anything,"

"On your knees." Lucifer releases him, eyes still shining with undisguised mirth, and Sam scrambles to do what he's told without hesitation. "Good boy. Gonna think about Dean while I fuck you?" His hands wander over the curve of Sam's ass, and he groans, rocking back into the touch. "Gonna think about big brother rushing in to save you?"

"No," Sam assures him, breathless by this point and waiting for the intrusion when Lucifer finally decides to fuck him. He tries not to tense up, because he's just a toy to Lucifer, and toys don't need preparation, and Lucifer doesn't care how much it hurts him.

"That's right," Lucifer leans over him to whisper in his ear, cold breath sending shivers up and down his spine despite the burning hot counterpoint of Lucifer's cock slotting into place between his asscheeks. "Because you deserve this Sammy, don't you?"

He doesn't – in some part of his brain Sam knows he doesn't, but not for what reason. Lucifer's making it impossible to think, and his cock is dripping precum onto the sheets. He needs this, and so he says it. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Lucifer continues to taunt him, rubbing the tip of his cock up against Sam's hole so that it catches on the rim with each little stroke, and Sam's a moaning mess of nerves and heat and need.

"I deserve this,"

The angel pushes in without warning, and Sam cries out again, feeling the burn as he's stretched suddenly beyond what he can take. "I'm all you deserve, got that Sammy?" He asks, and Sam pants out something that is meant to be an affirmative, twisting his head so he can bite into the fleshy part of his bicep. Lucifer hates it when he makes noise.

"No one else understands you like I do Sammy," The angel continues in a conversational tone, driving in and out in quick succession, and Sam bites down harder into his own flesh, trying to redirect the pain. "They all still think you're a monster. Dean wants to kill you in your sleep."

He tries to tune it out, tries to focus only on the sensations that are quickly starting to become less painful. He's too used to it now, still turned on despite – or maybe because of – the pain. Sam's not allowed to talk back, not supposed to deny Lucifer. His place is to take and take whatever he's given like the monster, the whore, he is. It's all his fault, and he can never resist.

"Don't cry baby," Lucifer's tone is comforting again, and he caresses Sam's back as he fucks into him still, "I'm here; I've got you." Sam hadn't even realized he was crying until the angel pointed it out; but he is, tears streaming down his face because Lucifer never lies to him. And still he doesn't want to be this – the freak, the whore, the fuck-up since the day he was born. It's been getting harder and harder to know what's real, harder and harder to pretend for Dean when Lucifer's been doing this to him.

"Let go Sam – I'm all that's real here, and I'm all you need. Forever."

Sam comes untouched, filthy and ashamed with it all over the sheets, undeniable evidence of just how much he needs Lucifer – in him, filling him, all around him, as much as Sam doesn't want him to be.

"That's it," Lucifer whispers, fading out as he leaves Sam to deal with the aftermath yet again, used and dirty and monstrous, all these little things that he can't tell anyone, and only Lucifer knows. "Our little secret Sammy."


End file.
